


in the static, you were reborn

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: (key word: might be), 1x04/1x05, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Dealing With Trauma, F/F, a story in snippets, depression can't be cured but it might be a little easier to deal with, healthy family dynamic, if you've got people who will stand by you, post traumatic stress disorder & depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It goes like this:Mako tells Korra to wait.Korra doesn’t hear him.





	in the static, you were reborn

**Author's Note:**

> i'm rewatching LOK for the first time in a few years and this just kind of came to me
> 
> sorry for any typos
> 
> title from [exhumed by zola jesus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcJ4ECn8R7E)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It goes like this:

Mako tells Korra to wait.

Korra doesn’t hear him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the time he reaches out to wrench her back into the crowd, she’s already in the air. It’s graceful, really, seeing her throw herself onto that Equalist stage in that decidedly _not_ graceful way of hers. She’s so forward and sure of herself, so full of something boiling hot that she doesn’t think—doesn’t blink.

Korra goes for it.

The steam she set off in the back hall is enough that she can hear Bolin cry out his brother’s name; her heart sings, triumphant, for the briefest of moments—

And then there’s a gloved hand wrapped around her throat, using her momentum against her to slam her into the ground. The stage creaks under the force of the blow. She brings her hands to together, but then she feels something shoot through her—fire, water, earth, _air_ —

Then nothing. Nothing at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bolin and Makko grab her before the crowd can get their hands on her. Amon disappears in the steam, and they’re left dashing through the alleyways and side streets of Republic City.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tenzin’s mournful, helpless expression says what his words won’t.

“Korra…can’t get her bending back?” she hears Ikki whisper softly—sadly—to Pema. “But…Korra’s the Avatar—”

“Hush.” Pema’s voice is even softer;, for a rare moment, Ikki obliges. She can feel Jinora and Meelo’s gazes on her back—a searing combination of sorrow and pity.

“I wish you hadn’t gone to that rally,” she hears Tenzin murmur, shaking his head, his eyes sad.

Sad. _Disappointed_.

“I think…I’m going to get some rest.”

Korra turns and leaves them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Curled on her bunk, Naga leans her head on Korra’s lap as the Avatar wipes the tears from her cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her connection to the elements—gone. All is silent and heavy within her. No rock will move, no spark will come from her burnt fingertips, no moisture can be drawn out of the air. She lifts her hands, tries to pull something from within, but only ends up hiding her face in Naga’s neck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Word is sent to Master Katara. There’s little to nothing to do, but Tenzin says it’s at least something.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Republic City, they say the Avatar is dead. They see her on Naga’s back but they look at her like she’s a ghost—their ghost, their hero to mourn. No one smiles or waves when she passes them by. And Mako, and Bolin—they try, but it’s just too empty a space between them. The loss of her bending has put her leagues apart from them.

Asami tries. Asami comes across her beating her knuckles bloody into a wall and ends up coaxing her out of that alley, out of the dark, back into Naga’s comforting presence, back on a boat headed back to Air Temple Island.

Korra is hurting, but she musters up a smile for the other girl before stepped out onto the dock.

Asami says, “anytime,” softly, her eyes filled with so—so _much_ —that Korra is overwhelmed, taken speechless by the other girl.

They embrace briefly before parting ways.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s a span of days—or weeks, Korra’s not sure—that pass by in a blur before Katara sends word that she can’t make it. Not yet.

More days pass by.

Unbeknownst to her, Asami drops by to visit. She runs into the kids before she can turn the corner towards Korra’s quarters.

“Who are _you_?” Meelo asks, suspicious.

“Are you Korra’s friend? Her non-bending friend? Are you that girl that Mommy says Korra li—”

Jinora slaps a hand over Ikki’s mouth. Turning towards Asami, she says, “Korra’s in her room.”

“Daddy said not to disturb her,” Ikki says, prying herself from her sister’s hand. “But since it’s you I guess you—”

“Shush!” hisses Jinora, and Asami finds herself smiling—

And, surprisingly, trying to hide her blush.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Asami and Korra don’t speak much. Asami talks and tries to hold a conversation; she sits close or far from Korra depending on the state she’s in—drenched in sweat from another nightmare or dry and sallow from spending the day inside—but, eventually, Korra lays her head in Asami’s lap and falls asleep like that.

Not that anyone needs to know, but Asami dies a little death because of that. She can’t stop smiling until she glances up and notices Jinora, Ikki, and Meelo grinning at her from beyond the window, giggling and waving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, it’s Jinora, Ikki, and Meelo who pull Korra out into the sunlight.

It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t give Korra her bending back.

Meelo says, “be like the leaf!” and ends up hurling a melon at her.

“Hey!” Korra’s almost too slow: at the last second, she whirls and kicks it back at him, right before it hits her.

Meelo laughs. “You’re the Avatar!”

Ikki beams. “You _have_ to train with us, Daddy said so.”

Korra looks at Tenzin; he sighs with a shrug.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Move like a pro-bender without the bending, huh?” Bolin asks. “Sneak attack material! I like it.”

“Come on, Korra!” Ikki yells form the sideline of the gym’s floor lines.

“Yeah, Korra’s gonna kick your sorry butt!” Meelo shouts, pumping his fists in the air.

Jinora flashes her a thumbs-up.

Korra gets back into position, and darts forward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“A leaf on the wind, Korra!”

“I’m _triyng_ , Meelo!”

“Try harder!”

“Not you, too, Ikki!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Korra meditates under the sun while her nose itches, searching herself for something snag—something Amon missed—but finds nothing. Every morning, it’s the same. She breathes with Jinora, the calmest of the Airbender children, while Ikki and Meelo wrestle for one of the cakes Pema tried hiding from them the night before, and—

“Korra!” Ikki yells, causing Korra to open her eyes. “Korra! Asami’s here! Asami’s here! Oooh, do you think she’s going to ask you to dinner this time? Jinora and I _heard_ her talking to Mommy about it! You _have_ to go, she’s so pretty and dreamy and—”

To her dismay, her cheeks are already burning. When she twists around, she can see Asami coming up the pathway, waving when their gazes meet across the grounds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It goes like this:

Time won’t heal the gaping wound inside her. Neither will meditation or her futile efforts. There are stretches of days where Korra doesn’t venture outside out into the daylight; she goes hours for a time without eating; sometimes, she won’t even look Naga in the eye. There’s no one-day-cure for what’s going on inside her.

But here’s the thing:

There are people here who keep her on her feet. Ikki, Jinora, and Meelo have taken charge of such days where they at least get Korra to come out into the open air to sit with them as their father goes through more spiritual lessons with them.

And there are days where she can’t move. No energy is left in her—not to cry, not to fight, not even to speak.

On days like those, Asami comes in and sits with her, runs her hands through her hair and combs out the snares and tangles. Asami leans down and presses her lips softly to Korra’s forehead before leaving for the night.

However much this gaping chasm inside her stretches and convulses with the loss of her bending, Korra is reminded time and time again that, after everything that’s happen, these people—her family, and a girl who makes can conjure a smile out of thin air—won’t let her go through this alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
